


Sins of a Mother

by mosomacilany



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Gen, Mother-Son Relationship, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-11 02:46:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5610970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mosomacilany/pseuds/mosomacilany
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alistair visits Skyhold, finds his son there and has regrets, but he has no idea that a few rooms away Fiona battles with the same things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sins of a Mother

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Dragon Age Fanfiction Writers Monthly Minor Character-Writing Challenge.

Fiona spent her time in the library as always, perusing the books on the shelves, trying to feel herself useful, but the ugly truth was that since the Inquisition offered alliance at Redcliffe, she was nothing more, but another piece on a chessboard. In that very moment, they pledged loyalty for the Inquisitor and joined to their sacred cause, the freedom of the mages became secondary in everybody's eye. The mage-templar war was over in such unglorified way and there wasn't a victory, achievement, failure or anything, their whole fight seemed meaningless, subordinated to the sacred goal of the Inquisition. Nobody cared for their fight for freedom anymore. And she knew the bitter fact was that it was her fault, when she asked Tevinter's help in her desperation, let them take command, slaughter the Tranquils, she tainted their cause with bad blood.

The half-opened window faced to the garden. She swept her eyes through the herbal beds and the praying revered mothers until it rested on the royal blue uniform with silver stripes. The chest plate was ornated with the griffon. It has been a while since she had seen this uniform, that symbol for the last time.

A Grey Warden. A sword against the darkness, a shield protecting the innocents. Decades passed but she still remembered those words that she had taken as an oath before she had drunk the blood, made the sacrifice.

The Warden watched a little boy sitting on a bench and reading, the son of the witch they brought from Orlais. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, on his back a shield with the griffon.

Fiona could recognize that shield among thousands of same. It was a friend's, long lost, only her own remembrance kept his name. People only remembered the bright heroes or ruthless villains. Who were between these two always vanishes in the oblivion like never existed. If they were lucky they ccould live toward in a song or a ballad written by an untalented minstrel.

 _Warden Alistair_. As the Inquisitor called him.

She knew that name too well. She knew those golden locks and hazel eyes too well. She remembered the feeling when she had held him in her arms for the last time, as his chubby arms had reached out for him, his scent as she had exhaled a last, trembling kiss on his forehead. And it still rang in her ears, the desperate and painful cry of the newborn child pleading for his mother who just left him.

There was nothing in him from her. He had his father's feature, the same eyes, the same hair, even the same jawline. And the rounded ear most of all. He could have lived a normal life like Fiona wanted. Far from the elves, from the mages and from the Grey Wardens. And yet he wore that uniform with the griffon on his chest and oddly, she was proud of him for it. She was always amused by the clever tricks of the Maker.

She took her steps of the narrow caracole to the garden. She had to speak with him to know about his well-being. Maybe to soothe her conscience that what she had done was the best, that maybe she did something right in her life. But as she stepped through the door to the peristyle framing the garden, took a circle around listened as the revered mothers in the chapel recited the Chant of Light, surveying the young Warden, his gestures. He was like Maric, everything in him was like the former king. Nothing from Fiona.

She uncertainly took the strides toward him, became more scared by every step and just before she could reach him faltered, and took a sharp turn to escape back to the shelter of musty books of the library.

"Great Enchanter Fiona." His voice stopped her. Even it was like Maric's. That smooth and low voice, a bit husky. Fiona heard her heart pounding and tried to force some self-discipline on herself, before with a light and diplomatic smile turned to the Warden. That is the thing what everybody learns in Orlais, the pretense, even if everything collapses around.

"Warden Alistair." she greeted him, even she was surprised how flippant her voice was. "I didn't mean to disturb your rest." she apologized and with a wag tried to escape again.

"I was hoping you would join to me. Two Wardens among themselves."

"I'm not a Warden anymore." Fiona tried to excuse herself, but Alistair only registered it with a chuckle.

"Nobody can really leave the Wardens, you and I both know." he replied, turning fully to her, the side of his mouth turned to a half-smile, gesturing to her to join him.

It was true. Nobody could leave the Wardens, even without the taint in the blood. She often listened Solas' scornful opinion about the Order, the corruption what webbed it, never understanding what truly means to be a Warden. The sacrifice, the service, and the blood what connected them. They carried the corruption in them to fight against it. Only a Warden could really understand what this really meant when the final Calling reaches him or her knowing it is the time for a last march against the darkness and after decades of service becomes just a name in the register of the Order. Even after she left them, they remained her brothers and sisters.

Fiona went beside her son, her heart beating so hard that she could almost hear it. What should a mother tell her son, who she abandoned so many years ago? Revealing the truth in these bothersome days wasn't an option. Too much pressure was on his shoulders already. The last sane Warden in all Thedas against the madness of the Calling.

"I understand Queen Anora kicked you out from Redcliffe Castle." he hushed away her thoughts, still watching the black haired boy reading on the bench.

"The Queen was right, we abused her hospitality." Fiona admitted, but Alistair only registered it with an unamused snort.

"Anora and the hospitality." His voice was filled with disdain as he spat out her name. "The trollop would do anything to keep her precious throne."

"Could I ask why didn't you accept the throne?" Fiona asked. He chuckled.

"Me, leading a country? Believe me, bad things happen when I lead. We get lost, people die, and the next thing you know I'm stranded somewhere without any pants. Just ask Ely... the Hero of Ferelden." his mouth still curved to a smile, but his eyes radiated sadness, and his fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword.

"Were you two close with the Hero?" Fiona inquired and now his face became dark, anguished.

"She was the love of my life. She still is." he answered. "But too many dark things happened during the Blight to forget. We made too many painful sacrifices to keep on." Fiona looked at Alistair, tried to solve his tiny gestures as he surveyed the boy. A question formulated in her as watched the little boy's so familiar hazel eyes.

"The boy is my son." Alistair answered to her unsaid question with so much painful tone in his voice that it could shake the thousand years old walls around them. "He was the reason that both Elyssa and I survived the Blight. He was the reason why we walk on different paths now." Fiona switched her eyes between the boy and his son breathlessly and more he watched them, the more he realized that how similar the boy is to his father.

"He was produced in an unholy, dark ritual." he said, his voice bitter by every word. "Elyssa never forgave me that I saved us in that so unglorified way and it tainted our love." He looked at Fiona so meaningfully that for a quick moment Fiona thought that he knows her real identity. "Morrigan told the boy that his father was a good man. Maybe the only good thing that wicked witch has ever told about me. And more I watch the boy the more I believe, beside the fact how he was made, he is the only good thing I made to this damned world."

"Then you should tell him who you really are." These ill-advised words spilled out from Fiona's mouth, unknowing that she advised it to him or herself.

"But what should I say? Telling him that I'm his father? And what should I tell him that where I was all these years?"

"I've never said the truth is not painful or easy." Fiona answered as with motherly care took her hand on his son's arm. "But believe me, if you won't do it, you will torture yourself every day that what might have been if you had enough courage." Alistair took a questioning glance on the elf mage, searching something in her eyes.

"Do you have...?" he asked uncertainly. She smiled on him softly and took a step back.

"Everybody has regrets, young Warden," Alistair hummed and with a nod left Fiona there, taking shaking steps toward the little boy and she was certain that the Warden was more frightened than a horde of darkspawn stood before him with drawn swords and bare teeth. She knew because she felt the same. The difference was that Alistair's heart had enough courage to make a step.

 _The time isn't right._ She tried to convince herself as watched his son sitting down next to her grandson. And the more she watched the scene as a father speaks with his son for the first time the more she was certain that Alistair was the only good thing what she has ever done.

* * *

Fiona watched the preparation in the courtyard, as they readied to go to Adamant. She watched as Alistair geared up his mount for the journey and her heart filled with remorse and agony that she wasn't enough brave to tell him. She had many regrets in her life, she made many great mistakes, but these now seemed so insignificant as she watched losing her son once again.

"You know, Alistair is always wearing the medal of his mother. He always wanted to know her." The Spymaster of the Inquisition almost frightened her to death. Leliana took her steps so silently that nobody could ever notice her. "It would make him very happy. And Maker, he would deserve it, don't you think?" and she took a meaningful glance on the elf mage from behind her hood.

"How do you...?" Fiona muttered, but Leliana just giggled.

"I'm a very good spymaster." she answered "And a respectable mage told once that 'if you won't do it, you will torture yourself every day that what might have been if you had enough courage.'" The shock settled on Fiona's face as stared Leliana, but she just smiled that confidently when you know that you possess the certainty.

"You should keep your own advice, Grand Enchanter." And she signaled with her head toward Alistair. Fiona also rested her eyes on his son, and her legs began to take the steps down, just forward to him and she could swear that the whole world ceased to move around them. It was just her and her son.

"Warden Alistair." she addressed him, her heart in his throat, pulsating painfully.

"Grand Enchanter." he greeted her jovially as put his bedroll on his horse. "I wanted to thank you for your encouragement. Kieran was very smart, understanding who really I am. Even her mother wasn't as furious as I thought that I revealed the truth. When I come back I'll even teach the boy holding a sword and shield." Fiona listened to his enthusiastic report and tried to gather all her courage to confess.

"Alistair..." she began, her voice trembling just as her whole body.

"Warden, we are departing." the Inquisitor's uncompromising words interrupted her, taking away her every willpower, leaving nothing behind just cowardice.

"Please, give me a moment." he replied and turned back to the mage who tried to not shed those tears in her eyes. Alistair turned back to her rising his inquiring eyes on the elf mage the only thing she was capable of is a resigned sigh.

"You should go, young Warden." she said lastly. "But you are welcomed in my quarters when you return. I would like talk with you." Alistair smiled softly to the elf and nodded.

 _The time isn't right._ Fiona said to herself as a mantra as watched her son marching to the gate, to a battle.

* * *

Fiona watched the crows as they delivered and brought the messages constantly, waiting any news from her son or what really happened at Adamant. She knew only fragments what she eavesdropped from the conversation of the messengers. She waited for Leliana to show up, to tell her anything what makes her move toward from this agonizing state of uncertainty.

But when she showed up, with a rolled paper in her hand, with that piercing pain in her bloodshed eyes, Fiona's soul cracked into little shards. Without saying anything the Spymaster just handed the report to her and went away. Fiona wrapped out the letter with trembling hands and read the report.

_The Inquisition occupied Adamant Fortress and offered alliance for the remained Wardens, who are now free from the effect of the false Calling. Warden Alistair died heroically, ensuring the escape of the Inquisitor and Ser Hawke from the Fade._

The ink on the paper slowly dissolved by Fiona's falling tears, her trembling hands crumpled the parchment. Long minutes passed until the world became sharp around her again. She dropped the report into the cracking fire of the fireplace and began to take her steps, out from the library, out from the castle, through the bridge to the wilds of the mountains. Her face was ethereally calm, not showing any of the storm inside her.

She walked in the snow without a coat, not feeling the icy howling of the wind. She took her steps until Skyhold vanished in the horizon, until the sounds of the always busy castle silenced and nothing left behind just empty tranquility of the forest. And when she reached it a scream burst out from her. The scream of the mourning mother, a scream what could invoke every demon and spirit of the Fade. The scream what echoed back these words.

_The time will never be right._


End file.
